Mood Music
by RochelleRene
Summary: I don't know anymore if I am doing it for me or for you guys!  If you dig House's piano playing, this is some good Huddy smut for you.  Sorry it's a tad shorter...  For the "case" I was researching a bunch of diseases online. :  Hope you like...


**Disclaimer: David Shore's beautiful characters; just my fantasies**

It was late into the evening, 10-ish or so, when Cuddy heard House's motorcycle pull up outside. He'd received a new case that day, so she knew why he hadn't left the hospital earlier. She was lying on the bed, already in a short white nightgown, waiting for him.

He didn't come upstairs though. Through the floor, she felt the vibrations and heard the muffled notes of the piano in the living room. He was thinking.

Though she didn't realize it at the time, she had bought that piano for him. Cuddy didn't even know how to play. She had bought this new home, supposedly to live in with Lucas. But when she began decorating, she insisted this one spot in the living room needed a baby grand, telling herself Rachel would take lessons at some point. She now realized that was just a cover-story for Lucas and, really, for her own heart. Even then, she was expecting it – preparing for House to one day be there.

He played all the time, and she found it a helpful barometer of his mood and state of mind. She could usually tell by the music… If he was feeling silly and playful, he'd be goofing around with old show tunes or pop songs. If he was upset about something, he would thunk out dramatic, symphonic pieces. When he was thinking about her, these quiet lilting melodies would tinkle out. If he was just bored, he'd pick out a blues or jazz riff or just improvise. Often he'd start when she was occupied – helping Rachel, finishing work – and she'd just hear it float through the downstairs rooms. If she could, she liked to just stretch out on the couch and listen to him play. If she was _really_ lucky and he was in an exceptionally good mood, he'd sing her something, but that was rare and usually involved a fair amount of alcohol.

She padded to the stairs and began quietly sneaking down. She wanted to check on him, but she didn't want to interrupt him – at least not yet. She could see him across the room from the doorway, his back mostly to her, the piano facing a window. The room was dark. His shoes and coat were on the floor. He was playing a very sad sounding song - lots of flats making these eerie, melancholy chords. But it was complex too, his right hand gliding up and down the keys quickly. It almost sounded like music from a scary movie. She was just thinking to herself that the case must not be solved yet when his phone rang.

"Yeah," he answered. He exhaled. His team was on the other end, relaying information. "Dammit… Alright, kid-os, what else you got?... … … Sarcoidosis can cause joint _pain_, not bone breakage. And it doesn't explain the cancers or liver failure… … …Hemophilia _could _work, if the breakages all show surrounding soft tissue damage. Run her blood and call me back." He hung up and resumed playing.

"Stop spying and come sit that luscious ass next to me, Cuddy," he said, never turning to look at her, just patting the bench next to him while he continued playing. She was caught. Cuddy shuffled over in her bare feet and sat on the piano bench next to him, facing away from the keys.

"45-year-old female. Several broken bones from a minor fall off a stepladder at work. Has been complaining of joint pain. The CT shows tumors all over and she's been unconscious for 4 hours," he explained, still playing the piano. "Blood work shows her liver's failing."

Cuddy's brow creased in thought. A moment passed. "Paget's?" she offered. House shook his head.

"Just came back negative. And now she's bleeding," he added.

"Where?" Cuddy asked.

"Everywhere," he replied.

"Hemophilia's unlikely, though," Cuddy stated matter-of-factly, "The tumors."

"I know. It's a long shot. But they can run the blood they already have and it gives me time to think without them breathing at me on the other end of the phone like obscene callers," House explained. "Taub's running an MRI right now too - " His phone rang again just as he was saying that. House stopped playing and answered.

"The MRI shows brain lesions," Taub explained. Cuddy was close enough now to hear the team through his phone.

"Huh," House mulled that over.

"We need to know if the lesions are part of the cancer or not," Foreman said. "Or they might be harmless. It might not be a new symptom. We need a brain biopsy." A half-minute passed while House thought.

"Do it," House ordered.

"The patient's unconscious. We need Cuddy's consent," Chase reminded.

House looked at Cuddy, who nodded her approval. "I don't give a rat's ass what Cuddy thinks! Do the biopsy!" House yelled into the phone. He looked at Cuddy and grinned broadly. She narrowed her eyes at him in mock anger, but smirked.

"Are you with Cuddy right now?" Taub asked.

"Just do it." House replied, hanging up.

House made a clicking sound with his tongue, thinking. He resumed playing, feeling like he should know this... _Joint pain with bone breakage, bleeding, tumors, organ failure_… Another minute ticked by.

"Is she Jewish?" Cuddy suddenly asked.

House froze, mid-melody. _That a girl, Cuddy_, he thought. He picked up the phone. "Hold the cutting into her brain thing. It's Gaucher's," he stated when they answered. He looked at Cuddy, kissed the tip of her nose.

"Her parents were both healthy," Chase protested, "Died of natural causes."

"They were carriers," House and Cuddy said in unison.

House continued, "It's most prevalent in Jews, and most often they don't even know they have it, but pass it on to their kids… Who marry other Jews… Any of that recessive gene stuff coming back to you? Start her on an intravenous enzyme replacement while you run the test. She's unconscious - We don't have any time to lose. Call me when you get the test back." He hung up.

"I knew dating a Jew would come in handy one day," he grinned at her and started playing again. The melody had changed to a more lilting, jolly tune. "Wanna join my team?"

"I don't know if I can handle the abuse," she joked.

"Oh, you'd love it," House said. "You could break into houses. Run countless tests. Chase would most likely try to get in your pants." She smiled at him. "Way more glamorous than 'Dean of Medicine,'" he said, rolling his eyes at her title.

"But then I'd be at the hospital right now," she said, leaning over to give him a long deep kiss.

"Good point," House murmured into her mouth, "You're fired."

He kept playing into the dark room and she just wanted to be near him. She kissed his shoulder and then just listened for few minutes, staring into the hallway behind him. House showed off a little for her, but then just started tinkering around. His phone rang.

"It's Gaucher's," Foreman confirmed. "She's still out, but we started the enzymes."

House continued playing with his left hand and held the phone in his right. "Good," he replied. "One of you needs to be there when she wakes up." He snapped the phone shut on his forehead and tossed it over by his jacket and shoes. _Done_. He let out a long pent-up sigh.

House continued to play long low chords with his left hand, and reached back with his right hand to meet Cuddy's thigh. He drew a slow circle around her knee. He leaned to the side and reached lower, sliding his palm up the back of her calf, his fingers sensing her tendons. Cuddy tilted her head back a little and closed her eyes, barely breathing. She'd missed him.

His hand slid slowly over her knee again and he inched – no, centimetered – his way up her inner thigh, beneath her nightgown, making her crazy. She felt his lips on her shoulder, softly kissing her. She felt his stubble as he used his chin to slide the strap of her nightgown down her arm. He fanned his fingers out, smothering the inside of her thigh, pulling it closer to his. Long, low notes still sang out of the piano, mingling with every tiny whimper she let escape. He moved to her other thigh, right where it met her hip. His huge hand practically encircled her leg. She felt his thumb lightly graze her lips, then return for more, pushing deeper, parting them, feeling her heat and wetness. She shifted on the bench.

House had his eyes closed as he played both the piano and Cuddy, his head on her shoulder, still tasting her, smelling her. She intoxicated him. He lifted his head and looked at her. She was a trembling statue, back arched, beautiful neck stretched back, hands flat on the piano bench, steadying her. He stopped playing for a brief moment, moving her closer hand to the space on the bench where his own legs parted, creating space to shift his body even closer to hers. He resumed playing and found himself trying to keep his breathing steady. He reached for her far thigh again and pushed it, opening her legs more. His thumb slid up and pressed gently on her clit, then stroked it slowly.

Cuddy felt like she might faint. She turned her head toward him, eyes opening just a bit. He would have been only a silhouette in front of the tall window next to them if the window in front of the piano didn't let some of the street light land on his face. She watched him… He licked his lips and looked at the keys for a moment, then bit his lip and turned to look at her. She watched his fingers skating over the keys… quickly at moments, seeming to dance, then slowly, pounding and holding these deep intense chords. He stroked her sex the same way - with agile active exploration, then with a focused pulsing pressure. He saw her watching him and he brought his face closer to hers. He kissed her mouth, a long lazy tasting of her that turned more intense and forceful. He played his piano harder and he played her harder. They weren't so much kissing now as just breathing into each other, holding their open, panting mouths together.

He was pressing her clit, with that goddamn gifted thumb, steady and firm, and she felt her core tightening. "Cuddy" he whispered, so quietly into her mouth. She gripped the bench, but she couldn't help it and she arched her back and laid her head and shoulders against the wood of the piano, just above the keys. He looked at her, on the cusp of an orgasm, arched against this instrument he loved, her nightgown slipping down her shoulder and revealing one breast, and he was so completely enraptured with her he couldn't breathe. He continued touching her, pushing, stroking until she came, writhing next to him, her shoulders hitting some of those high keys while his left hand continued throbbing out this low melody. He watched her approach it, peak, and ride back down and he felt like the piano and even surgery couldn't compare to the wonder his hand had just produced.

As she lay there, recomposing, he slid his hand further up and touched her stomach, running his hand across muscle covered in smoothness. He bent and took her exposed nipple in his mouth, urging her to stay aroused in spite of her release. He felt her chest rising and falling and heard in her noises that she was far from done.

Cuddy sat up and turned her body towards him, straddling the bench. Wrapping her arms around him, she hooked one leg over his and pressed her forehead onto his shoulder. He returned his right hand to the keys and the song opened up, only more beautiful with the layering of these higher notes. She felt the muscles in his shoulder move under her face as he played. She just listened for a while, maybe 10 minutes, admiring his talent and watching him move his hands across the keys in his skillful, intentional way. He was so handsome like this, hunched a bit, his head down toward the keys even as his eyes looked up to gaze out the window or stare into space.

She slid her hand down his chest then, across his belly. She snaked under his shirt and felt his skin, that perfect amount of hair that was dusted over his torso. She moved down to his fly and she felt him immediately harden beneath her hand. She opened his jeans and reached into the fly of his underwear to pull him out. As soon as she touched him, House moaned a little. Her orgasm against the piano had turned him on more than anything, and he was waiting for her, wanting it to happen again. Cuddy gently pulled his right hand off the keys, straddled him by kneeling on either side of his lap, and then replaced it, like opening and closing the door to this little paradise of hers, the walls his body and his piano. House moved back on the bench a slight bit, making room for her to sit across his lap. Cuddy pulled her nightgown over her head and he stared at her body, accentuated by shadows and dim light from the street. He continued playing, moving his right hand up two octaves so her narrow frame was able to lie back over the keys in the space between his two hands. The music was now this interesting blend of very high and very low notes, opposites that complemented each other.

He felt her wet, hot entrance against his erection and saw her body stretched in front of him and he stopped playing to grab her, sliding his hands down her ribs, cupping her breasts. Cuddy took both his hands in hers and returned them to the keys. Then she pushed up a bit and guided herself down on his shaft. The groan. The gasp. She wanted him to keep playing and House didn't know if it was possible. His mind felt high as he felt her start to ride him, and he didn't even know what he was playing anymore, the song coming from deep recesses of his mind that his hands could access without his consciousness - a song he'd played probably hundreds of times, his hands moving on their own, but never like this.

She sat up and held his head to her. He kissed her neck, her jaw, her chin. She pushed up on her knees more to give him access to her breasts. He ran his tongue over one nipple, nosed her sternum, gently bit her other nipple. She felt the strain in his legs – with her kneeling up like this he had to push his pelvis up to continue reaching her, pushing inside of her. He almost wasn't sitting anymore. She lowered herself again, to give him a break. That amazing man was still fucking playing that piano for her, for God's sake. She felt his breath, rapid now, heating her neck. She leaned her head down next to his, rubbing his stubbled cheek along hers. She kissed his earlobe. She kissed his jaw. She kissed his shoulder. And she continued to move her body over his, guiding his shaft in and out of her with long, careful strokes.

House's playing had slowed to an almost non-existent tempo, and he was mis-keying all over the place. He finally gave up and put his hands around her waist. He leaned his head back as she kissed down his neck, licking his Adam's apple, smelling the scent of him on his shirt. He couldn't take it anymore – he stood up, lifting her small frame off of him and seating her on the keys, making the most awesome haphazard sound he'd heard from a piano. She placed each hand down on the keys to steady herself, adding to this crazy music they were making. Standing between her legs, he pulled his jeans and boxers off. She slid his shirt up over his head. He used his hands to spread her legs further. They stared into each other's eyes, both breathing like marathon runners. He ran his fingers slowly up her slit. Stared into her eyes. He cupped her breast and ran his thumb over her hard nipple. Stared. He pushed himself into her hard, fast, and deep with a satisfied groan, staring. She gasped, and stared right back.

He put his hands over hers on the keys and began moving. He felt her tightness around him, her wetness allowing him entry, her heat making him just want more and more. He slid his hands from over hers, skimming up her arms, holding her face and staring at her. She was barely visible, the most light coming from the window behind her. As he slowly moved his body in and out of her body, he used his thumbs to trace her face, seeing her with his hands. He traced her jaw. Her lips, parted to let her hot breath and moans out. Her cheeks. Her closed eyes. He pictured those oceans lying behind her lids.

"You're beautiful, Cuddy," House whispered.

He felt her wide smile open on her face. "You can't even see me," she replied, breathless.

"I always see you," he confessed.

She leaned into him and he let his hands roam over her back, into her hair. She wrapped her legs around his waist and she felt her core around him, tightening like a spring. He kept one hand in her hair as they kissed and moved the other to her breast, pushing, lifting, releasing, feeling its round perfection in his palm. They were mid-kiss when she came, and he felt her cry out in his mouth. He continued kissing her, tracing her lips with his tongue even as they froze open, her quick breaths hitting his lips. He pushed her into the piano as she bucked against his body, wanting to get deeper to feel as much of her orgasm as he could. The piano released intermittent notes beneath her shifting weight as he thrust into her, again and again. She wanted him to never stop. He could swear she was up there for a full minute, and the sounds of her moans, dotted with random piano notes, made him crazy.

Cuddy was coming down from her high and she leaned back and stretched her arms along the top of the piano, laying her head back and displaying her body for him while he continued to fuck her. He saw the tips of her breasts lit in the darkness, her lips too because her head was turned back toward the window. She felt House's eyes roaming over her, his hands sliding down her thighs, lifting them and parting them more, reaching the end of her. She knew he was close. He started to slow down, trying to give her more time because he wanted her to come again with him. She didn't need more time, though, because his thrusts were rubbing the spot inside of her so intensely. She moved one hand down to her clit, coaxing herself along. "Don't stop, House," she instructed. He pushed on her knees, bending her legs more, and regained his speed and force. Her free hand pushed weakly on his chest, signaling her building tension.

He had no more will-power left. He thrust into her heat two, maybe three more times and he was on fire, coming deep inside her. All he could feel was himself, captured in her shuddering walls, and her nails digging into his chest, then releasing with her happy moan. He pushed and pushed until it was over. Then he laid his hands on the keys to brace himself and keep from fainting. The final notes of their song bounced off the walls.

Once they could see straight, she took him by the hand and led him up to bed, leaving their clothes strewn around the piano. He stretched out under the blankets and she curled around him, her face in the curve of his neck. He leisurely ran one hand up and down her body, the other bent behind his head.

He stared at the ceiling, replaying the whole encounter in his mind. "Cuddy, I really should teach you to play," he said, "You've got some obvious natural talent."

She laughed softly into his stubble. "Okay, we can have weekly lessons."

"Weekly, okay," he replied. He was silent for a few moments. "But, I mean… you need to practice _every day_…"


End file.
